


These Trying Times

by Whitlinger



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Multi, Relationship Study, Slow Burn, childhood gimmicks, go big or go home amirite, haha who am i kidding, i guess?, implied!anna/abe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitlinger/pseuds/Whitlinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So. I guess this is it, Tallboy.”<br/>Caleb’s voice is a blade. There are blades in his eyes, in the muscles of his jaw, and sewn to the words that leave his mouth. For the first time, the blades are pointed at Ben.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Trying Times

**Author's Note:**

> "i held your hand while you cried from a bee sting," anna said, and OH HEY CULPER KIDS no wait even better KID!TALLSTER !!!111  
> i don't know how these words happened, but enjoy this gay nonsense.  
> (title will change because i honestly can't think of a proper name for this)

There was the creek where they found the tadpoles, where Ben stuck his hand in the cool water and felt their frantic tails whip against his fingers. Caleb had let him name all of them after his favorite Biblical figures--Joseph, Moses, Saul.

There was the sycamore tree that Caleb had climbed, all the way to the utmost branch, and dangled upside down by only the crooks of his ankles. Ben had watched from the ground in stunned fascination and reluctant deference, until a wind made Caleb sneeze and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. Ben had rushed over to the boy, now a limp puppet in the sharp grass, and promptly burst into tears. He cried and cried, and kept crying even after Caleb found himself miraculously intact and pronounced the miracle. Finally Caleb lost his patience, and Ben heard his nose crack.

 _See?_ Caleb had said, jabbing a grimy finger at himself. _I’m okay. Stop crying._

Ben wiped at the blood dripping from his nose with his sleeve. _I thought you died,_ he said, accusingly.

 _I wouldn’t let any old tree kill me,_ Caleb scoffed, puffing out his chest. _I’m invincible._ And Ben believed him.

There was the yard where a group of local boys had stolen Ben’s books and torn out the brittle pages for paper planes. When Ben tried to confront them, the largest boy ordered Ben to fight him, so he did. Ben’s shins were bruised blue and his left eye swollen shut and his bottom lip split when Caleb showed up, and the rest was history. The boys never strayed near Ben again after that. 

There was the brush where they caught Anna and Abe holding hands, and Caleb had laughed, taunted, jeered, until Anna threw a rock at him and they ran from the echoes of their giggles. 

There was the riverbank where they had built a fortress from branches and mud, and hid there until the sky reddened with twilight and the ragged clouds smoldered. Caleb chattered on about one day becoming captain of his own ship and sailing all over the seven seas. He’d bring back embroidered silk from China, tigers from India, golden fruit from Morocco. Ben was secretly jealous that Caleb’s dream was much more exciting than his own. Compared to Indian tigers, studying to become a minister like his father and staying in Setauket seemed so plain.

 _If you’re going to all these places,_ Ben said, _then how are we supposed to hide Abe’s shoes on Sundays and bug Anna? What’s going to happen to our fights with Selah? How am I going to build that tower on my own?_

Caleb stopped in his soliloquy and gave Ben a strange look, as if Ben had missed something incredibly obvious. _You’ll come with me, of course. I’ll make you my first mate._  

There was the old barnhouse, quiet and forgotten, where out of the blue Ben had stopped Caleb and kissed him. Just a soft peck, like the ones his mother gave his father in the morning. Maybe Caleb had kissed back, or maybe he had punched Ben, but all Ben remembered was that boys don’t kiss boys, that he had... _sinned_. But it hadn’t felt like sin, and that made Ben even more ashamed. If God hadn’t been watching he would’ve kept doing it, maybe forever. These were dangerous thoughts, so Ben stepped away, and time tiptoed ahead in merciful ignorance.

There was the old barnhouse, silent and abandoned, where something true was left to starve and its corpse locked away.

+  


“So. I guess this is it, Tallboy.”

Caleb’s voice is a blade. There are blades in his eyes, in the muscles of his jaw, and sewn to the words that leave his mouth. For the first time, the blades are pointed at Ben.

But Caleb smiles, because he is Caleb, even though Ben can feel the blades at the edges of his curved lips.

Ben’s throat is dry. “Caleb--”

“Don’t get too soft on me. If you come back from Yale speaking in rhymes, I’ll make sure you die a virgin. Although at this rate, that won’t be very difficult...”

“Caleb.” This time, Caleb looks straight at Ben, and he is no longer smiling. Ben knows he is trying to close the yawning chasm between them with thread, but he continues anyway, “You should come with me. You’ll like New Haven.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it. It’s cold as balls up there and I can’t stay in one place long enough to freeze my arse off.”

“I’ll make arrangements for you.” Ben can hear the desperation creep into his own voice, like slow poison. “My father knows a shipmaster there who will take you in. You can apprentice with him, and in a few years you might be able to join a crew, like you always wanted. I can visit you every week.”

“So you’ll take me to New Haven like I’m some secret mistress who can entertain you when you get bored at Yale?” Caleb laughs humorlessly. “I appreciate the gesture, but you can spare me.” 

“For God’s sake, Caleb, I’m doing this for you,” Ben says irritably, and immediately he knows it is the wrong thing to say.

There is a long pause. Too long. Then Caleb breaks the lapse, and his tone is the still of the sea before a storm. “Of course you’re doing this for me. After all, you know so much more than me, don’t you? That’s why you’re frolicking off to some fancy institution to pretend you’re Rousseau and laugh about us simpletons, isn’t it?”

“Caleb, that wasn’t what I--”

“Fine. I won’t stop you. But don’t pretend like your _concern_ for me is charity.” Caleb turns to go. “For the first time in your life, Ben,” he says, and he is heartbreakingly sincere, “think of someone other than yourself.”  

Ben watches Caleb’s back as he trudges down the grassy hill, still soft with young spring. He can apologize. He can call after Caleb, tell Caleb he’s sorry, tell him he doesn’t want to part like this. There’s still thread left between them.

But Ben says nothing. So Caleb disappears down the slope, and Ben picks up the thread and tosses it into the chasm.  


**Author's Note:**

> ((sorry i lied apparently this wanted to be an angst fest))


End file.
